


Recruited

by Ahaviel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angel Castiel, Angel Healing, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angels, Angels are Dicks, Canon Universe, Castiel and Feelings, Castiel-centric, Emotionally Hurt Castiel, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallel Universes, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahaviel/pseuds/Ahaviel
Summary: The Darkness is finally gone and while there were rumors that God had made a brief appearance, he’s missing again. None of this would have happened if the Winchester brothers hadn’t screwed everything up. It’s time, the angels decide, to stop Sam and Dean once and for all. What they didn’t count on was Castiel’s resourcefulness. Instead of merely thinking outside the box to save Sam and Dean, Castiel decides to blow away the box entirely.Canon-divergent from s11e23 ending. God and the Darkness reconcile without Amara bringing back Mary. Sam and Castiel return to the bunker without encountering Toni Bevell. Can be read as either platonic or Destiel, depending on your interpretation of subtext. No slash. Otherwise canon-compliant. References s6e15 “The French Mistake.”





	1. Back in Black

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I want to thank both [Chiyume](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume) and [Northern Sparrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernSparrow/pseuds/NorthernSparrow), who inspired a few pieces within this fic.

**NOW**

Castiel stood back up, removed his hand from Dean’s head, and sighed heavily. The older Winchester lay prone on his bed in the bunker, fully clothed, unconscious. Sam was in an identical state in his bedroom. It had taken quite a bit of effort for Castiel to get them here after the attack, after God and Amara had somehow reconciled and left, after the angels in charge in Heaven decided that Sam and Dean had screwed up for the last time.

 

**FOUR HOURS EARLIER**

He and Sam had returned to the bunker after Dean left on his suicide mission to confront Amara. Sam was clearly hurting, wavering between denial and despair, but doing his best to hide it, even if he was only hiding it from himself. Sometimes Castiel wished humans knew that their emotions were broadcast through the colors of their auras as clearly as angels’ emotions were broadcast through their wings. On the other hand, most of the humans he’d come to know would have found that information disturbing, given that they often considered emotion to be a form of weakness.

And he couldn’t deny that something had happened within himself too. It felt like something had torn, jagged and gaping, which didn’t make any sense because angels didn’t break. He had seen countless generations of humans come and go, live and die, and never once did he feel like he did today. Still, he’d promised Dean that he’d look after Sam; that was his new mission. And he was going to do everything possible to keep that promise. The irony was not lost on him that he was perhaps hiding a little from himself too.

Sam hadn’t spoken at all on the way back to the bunker, and Castiel was concerned that Sam might shut him out completely. He needed to make some connection with the younger brother, open a door and invite Sam to walk through it.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said as they made their way down the steps from the front door. He knew the moment he said it, it wasn’t enough, couldn’t possibly speak to the pain that Sam must feel. _Open the door._ “If you want to talk…” _Invite him to walk through._ “I’m here if you need anything.”

Sam ignored him, going to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door. He pulled out a beer bottle, stared at it for a long time, then set it back in the fridge and nearly slammed the door shut. Turning around, he brushed past Castiel as he left.

“Sam…”

“Leave me alone, Cas,” Sam said, his voice raw. He headed for the bedrooms.

“Sam,” Castiel warned, “don’t do anything…stupid.” He knew this was the brothers’ code word. Exchanging one S-word for another.

Sam whirled around, his lips in a tight line and his eyebrows drawn close, barely holding it together. “What? You mean like my brother?”

“That wasn’t stupid and you know it. If he hadn’t sacrificed himself, the world would have been destroyed, along with everyone in it.”

“Lot of good that does me,” Sam muttered. “I wish I’d been with him.”

“So do I.” Castiel heard the words come out of his mouth before he realized he’d spoken them aloud. But that admission seemed to snap Sam out of his thoughts.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Sam said, tears coming to his eyes. “I know you two were close.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel said. “Dean asked me to take care of you. I won’t fail him.”

Sam looked down at the floor. The anger and grief so evident in his aura shifted and allowed a lighter color to emerge. Compassion. “Maybe, uh…” He cleared his throat and finally looked at Castiel. “Maybe we can take care of each other.”

“I don’t need—”

“I know,” Sam interrupted. “But maybe I do.” His mouth quirked up in a quick, painful smile. “And I do need some time alone. I’ll be okay.”

Castiel nodded once and watched him leave. He was able to send out the tiniest awareness to follow Sam. Not enough to intrude on Sam’s privacy, but enough to be certain he was safe. He sat down at the map table, closed his eyes, and waited. He was used to waiting.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later—two hours, forty-eight minutes, and thirteen seconds to be precise—Castiel heard a key turn in the front door lock. His eyes snapped open, all of his awareness focusing on that one sound. _Who else had a key?_ He stood, watching the front door as it opened.

And Dean walked through.

Barely waiting until Dean made it to the bottom of the staircase, Castiel grabbed him in an embrace that felt a thousand times more powerful than the last hug he’d given Dean. He didn’t want to ever let go. He felt that jagged tear begin to heal itself, and a ridiculous phrase from one of the movies that Metatron had given him flitted through his mind: _You complete me_.

“Hey,” Dean said, returning the embrace, then after long, drawn-out seconds, giving him a final squeeze before patting him on the back. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Castiel broke the embrace. “Dean. How are you alive? What about Amara and the bomb? No, wait,” he interrupted himself. “We need to tell Sam.”

“Where is he?”

“In his—” Castiel started, but was interrupted again, this time by the sound of Sam’s running footfalls.

“Dean?” Sam was out of breath. “Is it—?”

“It’s really me, Sammy.” Dean grinned, then grunted as his younger brother gathered him in a bear hug that lifted him off the floor. “Sam,” Dean squeaked. “Can’t breathe.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Sam set his brother down and exhaled sharply. “How did you… I mean…”

“Guess all those episodes of _Dr. Phil_ paid off.”

“What?” Sam asked, confused.

Before Dean had a chance to explain, they heard the front door slam open and found themselves immediately surrounded by a dozen figures in business suits. Angels.

One stepped forward. He was heavyset, gray-haired and balding, and it looked like his face had slipped down his skull, his features losing their battle with gravity.

“Akzariel,” Castiel said. “You can’t be here.”

Akzariel looked down his nose. “I can when you leave the door unlocked.”

“You didn’t lock the door?” Sam hissed at Dean. Dean shrugged and added a guilty smile.

“Who is he, Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s gaze didn’t waver from Akzariel. “Heaven’s torture—sorry, _corrections_ —director,” Castiel said, hearing the anger in his own voice. “Naomi would have reported to him.”

“Castiel, we will deal with you another time,” Akzariel sneered. “Your continued betrayals are an atrocity. But for now, it has been decided that these two pathetic excuses for humans have had their last chance. We cannot allow them to live.”

“You can’t do that,” Sam challenged him. “You fell.”

Castiel didn’t want to let Sam know how wrong he was. Even damaged from the fall, Akzariel, especially with reinforcements, was a significant threat. Moving between Sam and Dean, Castiel stood slightly in front of them. “If you want them, you have to go through me first.”

Akzariel grinned. “My pleasure.”

There was a momentary buzz, a slight increase in static electricity, imperceptible to humans, but Castiel felt it as clearly as a clarion call. He spun around, shoved Sam and Dean to the ground in front of him, then bent over them. With no time to spare, he brought his wings over from the etheric plane with a frantic tug and a crack of thunder, spreading his wings over them and creating a shield.

He was immediately surrounded by intense heat, light, and…rage. He tried his best to keep the energy away from the brothers, but his own wings were still damaged and he knew it might be a losing battle.

The heat and fury were intense and eroded his own energy. He fell to his knees, still trying to keep his wing shield up, then dropped to all fours, and finally collapsed on top of their bodies when everything went black.


	2. ON A WING AND A PRAYER

Why Akzariel didn’t kill him, he didn’t know. As Castiel regained awareness of his surroundings, it occurred to him that Akzariel probably had a more painful future planned for him. He pushed himself up, saw Sam and Dean beneath him, and immediately checked for life signs. Shallow respirations. Thready pulses. But alive.

He tried waking them. Calling their names, even slapping their faces. When he couldn’t get any response, he focused on their physical injuries. They seemed to all be soft tissue injuries, but ones that penetrated deep into their organs. If they’d faced this attack without any protection, their organs would have liquefied.

Gathering what grace he had, and in short sessions so he could regain his power in between, he began healing their vital organs and any internal bleeding. Once he’d done all he could, he made sure to lock the front door, then carried each of them to their bedrooms, hoping that rest would help their bodies heal themselves the rest of the way.

Concerned that they still showed no signs of consciousness, he considered this an emergency situation and thus not applicable to all of the times Dean had told him, “Get out of my head.” He placed his hand on Sam’s head first, gently probing, looking for signs of consciousness. What he encountered wasn’t a wall like the one Death had built before for Sam, but a great emptiness. Sam’s mind, his personality, his memories, were just…gone.

Castiel raced to Dean’s room and found the same thing. Body alive and continuing to heal itself. No mind. No personality. No memories. Nothing to make this person in front of him Dean. Their souls were there, bright and shining, but without their minds, their intellect, their memories and personalities, their souls were doomed to reside in bodies that were no more than vegetables.

Feeling that torn part of him opening up again, Castiel renewed his efforts, certain that their minds were somehow buried or dormant. He could feel himself getting weaker the more he worked on them, and he knew he needed to rest if he was to be of any help at all. He’d done everything he could think of, short of calling someone for help. Staggering to a nearby empty bedroom, he fell down onto the bare mattress and into a semi-sleep state.

 

* * *

 

He felt himself floating—no, _flying_ —catching air thermals and gliding down until he found another. It was effortless. He felt like his true self again, unsure if this was real or not. He couldn’t see, but he could feel the air eddies, navigating the drafts on pure instinct. The feeling of the air through his feathers appeared as kaleidoscopic colors in his mind. Reds and pinks for heat thermals, blues and greens for cooler pockets, a ripple of rainbows for clouds.

He wished he could share this with Dean. And with Sam, though he knew Dean hated flying and Sam would probably pepper him with questions and miss how serene this was. He relaxed into that feeling, savoring it, building strength from it. Something was tickling the back of his awareness, something important that he needed to do. Catching another thermal, he circled up, letting it take him high enough that the air was nearly too thin to support his glide. Fortunately he didn’t need to breathe.

Breathing. Sam and Dean were breathing, they were safe physically, but… He snapped out of the reverie and almost stalled in the thin air as he remembered what had happened.

Sam and Dean needed help beyond what he could provide. No angels could be trusted. He’d had enough of working with Crowley. Rowena wasn’t high on his trusted list either. And he knew medical doctors could do no more than make them comfortable.

He asked himself a different question. _Who had the power to undo whatever Akzariel had done?_   Well, God, of course. But God was indisposed. Lucifer had tremendous power, but Castiel wasn’t going to let him anywhere near the bunker. As far as he knew, once the Darkness had ripped Lucifer out of Castiel’s vessel, Lucifer was on the hunt for a new vessel. Michael would have that sort of power, but Michael was, according to God, in no condition to fight. Probably also in no condition to heal, and very likely still stuck in the cage.

This all would be so much easier if angel powers didn’t exist. If magic and demons were no more than fantasy. Human problems were so much easier to solve. A burst of rainbow lights lit up in his mind as he glided through a cloud bank, then found another thermal. Balthazar had sent Sam and Dean to such a world once. A world without magic. A world in which the supernatural was, of all things, a TV show. Some sort of dramatization of Carver Edlund’s books. Did the books even exist there?

The concept of multiple universes was nothing new, but Castiel hadn’t explored them. He’d been too busy with this one. What if this TV show existed in more than one universe? Someplace where he might be recognized as an angel, giving his request some validity. Someplace that _did_ have angels? Someplace where Michael wasn’t slowly going insane, where Michael would be willing and able to help. And more importantly, did he himself have the power to make a trans-dimensional trip to find such a place?

He felt warmth on the backs of his wings, maybe the sun, and a pleasant buzzing throughout his being. Somehow in this gliding experience, what power he’d used trying to heal the brothers had been restored. It was time to check on them, and if nothing had changed, he had a trip to plan.

Tilting his wings, he went into a dive, feeling the euphoria that always came with speed for him. He called to mind the bunker, his vessel lying on the bed, and aimed.

 

* * *

 

He woke with a start, feeling suddenly heavy and slow. Making his way to Sam’s room, and then Dean’s, he confirmed that there was no change. Physically they were healthy. Beyond that…

Castiel stood back up, removed his hand from Dean’s head, and sighed heavily. He squinted in concentration, reaching out for any energy surrounding a TV show about their lives, combing through it for his own name, or Dean’s or Sam’s. There were quite a few universes, though not all with angels. Finding a few, he then scanned for some connection to Michael. As he narrowed down the possibilities, one unusual word came up. _Why would anyone refer to Michael as a ‘saint’?_ The pool of universes was now very small, but they fit the criteria: TV show and angels, including Michael.

Now he needed a human he could appeal to, who could tie the two together. _Please_ , he found himself praying. Suddenly he stopped. A name, a face, a location. If he could get through to her, then get through to Michael, Sam and Dean may have a chance. He felt himself smile with hope and couldn’t help but use Dean’s words. “Son of a bitch.”


	3. OUT OF THIS WORLD

I’d just started writing a new short story, working from notes I’d scribbled down on a napkin from lunch earlier in the day, when I heard an odd noise, like someone shaking open a bed sheet. I looked up, not seeing anything unusual in my office. The door was closed and squeaked loud enough that I’d know for certain if someone entered.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I became aware of a presence behind me. I tried to remain calm, though my heart rate had doubled. I took a slow breath, attempted to play it cool, then grabbed a pen as I spun around in my chair, ready to give whoever was behind me an unhealthy dose of ballpoint ink. I started to yell as I spun, a trick I learned in self-defense classes, but the moment I caught sight of the intruder, the yell died in the back of my throat.

He was tall, though that wasn’t saying much, given my five-foot-two frame, and the fact that I was still sitting down. He had wavy, dark-brown hair, a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, and brilliant blue eyes that bored into my own. My peripheral vision made the rest of the connections: suit, tie, beige trench coat.

He blinked at me.

“You’re—” I managed to croak out before I forgot how to make words.

“Castiel,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “I require your assistance.”

“Wait, wha—?” I stood slowly, which helped the strain on my neck from looking up. “You’re not supposed to be here. Are you a hallucination?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Would you _tell_ me if you were a hallucination?”

“I am not a hallucination. I’m—”

“On a TV show,” I broke in. “You’re a character on a TV show.” I walked a few paces away, squeezing my eyes shut and reopening them a few times. I hadn’t had any alcohol in months. No new medications. I wasn’t terribly sleep-deprived. But I _had_ binge-watched _Supernatural_ for most of the past two months. All eleven seasons. Even I could make the argument that I was maybe a little bit obsessed. I glanced back toward my desk, where Castiel hadn’t moved. But I didn’t think I was obsessed to _this_ extent.

I walked back toward him, this time putting aside my fear and confusion and allowing myself to get a read on his energy. There was something familiar. A sense of vulnerability in my heart. A faint buzzing skittering along my skin. An openness in the top of my head. I’d had this reaction only a couple of times before, when a _real_ angel had shown up and saved my life. I decided to trust but verify.

“Explain this to me, please,” I said. “Because in my world—whatever this is: an alternate dimension or universe or world—you’re a fictional character on TV.”

Castiel started to speak, sighed, then nodded his head once. “You are familiar with the show.” He said it as a statement of fact, as if he already knew.

“Yes.”

“You remember one time when Dean and Sam were transported to another dimension in which they were actors on the same show?”

“Yes. As I recall, you were in on that little misadventure. But that’s not _this_ world. Not exactly. Because in _that_ world, Misha Collins—the actor who coincidentally plays you here—died. And here he’s alive and well and, according to some, misspelling your name.

A flicker of something crossed Castiel’s face, but it disappeared too quickly to identify. “This is a similar situation.”

“Are you telling me that Sam and Dean are here too?”

Castiel exhaled. “No. But you are.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I remembered what he’d said about requiring my assistance. “And how can I possibly help you?”

“You have a connection with Michael.”

I immediately felt a little dizzy. Michael was the angel I’d met before—twice—who’d saved my life. Once when I was a child and once as a teenager. And while those two times I’d seen him as clearly as I was seeing Castiel, I hadn’t seen him since. But I’d heard him. Somehow, I could occasionally hear his voice in my head. It wasn’t always easy. Years ago, he used to cause a high-pitched tone to sound in my left ear, like the old hearing tests, which would blot out every other sound around me. Once that got my attention, he’d tell me what he wanted me to know. Often it was cryptic. Always it was helpful.

“How do you know about that?” I said, feeling behind me for the office chair, in case I needed to sit down again.

“I know a great deal about you,” Castiel said. He raised his eyebrows and pinned me in place with his eyes. “And I know that you’re marked as one of his own.”

At that, I did need to sit down. “What do you mean? He said once he was my _shomer_.”

“Exactly,” Castiel said. “Your guardian and teacher. He’s claimed you as family. And I need you to contact him for me.”

I didn’t know why I was surprised that Castiel knew Hebrew. I tried to wrap my brain around all of this as I rubbed my hands over my face. I was able to process the fact that my nose was cold, but that was about it. “But your Michael, the Michael in your world...”

“He is unable to help,” Castiel said. “Nor do I think he would, even if he were at full strength.”

“So you need me as a… what, like a medium? Aren’t there better people for this? A professional medium, maybe?”

“I do not require you to channel him. I require you to call him.”

I was still having trouble finding words. “You… I… You want a… meet-and-greet with Michael?”

“Time is of the essence,” Castiel warned. “Will you come with me and I will try to explain on the way?”

“Uh… what about…” I shook my head. “I have to pick up my kids from school in a couple of hours.”

“I will make certain you are back before then.”

I had no idea what to do. I wasn’t sure I could trust him. I didn’t think I could really shoot off a text to my spouse, saying ‘Hi honey, going on a short inter-dimensional trip with the real Castiel and should be back in time to pick up kids, but in case I don’t text you by 3 p.m., please pick up kids on your way home from work.’

“This is an…urgent matter,” Castiel said, and I could hear a tinge of frustration bleeding over into his voice. “Please.”

I went back to my sense of his energy. It wasn’t as strong or as precise as the feelings I’d had when Michael was around, but it was eerily similar. Nothing I’d ever experienced with another human being. I decided to go with trust. I nodded and stood up on shaky legs. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

Finally moving from his statue-like position, he reached out and touched me on the shoulder. I felt a momentary spinning sensation and then the world disappeared.

 

* * *

 

We were surrounded by undulating shades of gray, and I had no sense of time, or if time existed here, wherever we were. I was aware of his presence but couldn’t see any physical form. I wondered if I had a physical form here, and tried to raise my hand in front of my face. But before I could even identify where my hand was, I heard Castiel’s voice in my head.

“The angels in my world,” he began, “are—”

“Dicks,” I supplied in my head with my best mental grin.

“—less than supportive,” Castiel finished. “Though Dean’s observation has a certain…truth to it. With everything that has happened, despite the reconciliation between God and the Darkness, the angels have decided that Dean and Sam cannot be allowed to live. That they will certainly unleash an even bigger disaster than the Darkness.”

“So you want Michael’s help to get them to back off?” I asked.

“No. It’s too late.”

I felt instant fear. “What?”

“I was able to prevent the angels from killing them, but their intent did enough damage. Dean and Sam are comatose. I have no way to get to them.”

“But don’t you have mind-reading skills? Michael did what I called a ‘mind-meld’ thing with me. Somehow he can see every secret, every regret.” I shuddered at the memory of how intimate and vulnerable that experience was.

“This is what I’m trying to tell you,” Castiel said. “There was nothing there. Their minds are gone.”


	4. WHO ARE YOU?

The next thing I knew, we were standing in the bunker. I looked around, half-expecting to see walls held up by braces, camera and sound equipment everywhere. It was quiet. It was large. “Wow,” I said. It echoed.

I turned to Castiel. “So how do we do this? Who do we start with?” I expected him to say Dean, because _more profound bond_ and all that.

“It’s best we start with Sam.”

I followed him down a hallway. “Why Sam first?”

“If we can reach Sam and bring him back, he may be able to help us with Dean.” He glanced back at me. “In case Michael is not so accommodating.”

I had trouble keeping up with him, my shorter legs taking two strides to every one of his. “Am I even going to be able to call Michael from this…dimension?”

“I’m counting on you to do exactly that.”

“Wow, no pressure or anything,” I muttered. “Hey,” I called, taking a few running steps to catch up to him, then nearly colliding with him as he stopped short and put his hand on a doorknob.

He looked at me and blinked once but didn’t answer.

“Um,” I started, suddenly feeling uneasy again. _How was this even happening?_ “Why can’t you call Michael—the Michael in my world—yourself? I mean, if Balthazar was able to send Sam and Dean to that other dimension, and you could come to mine—to get me—then why…”

Castiel’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I know that to you, I am fictional.”

I let out a short laugh. “Not anymore.”

“But everything you’ve seen in this show, it’s actually happened in my world.”

“Okay.” I nodded my understanding.

He looked back up to me and the pain and guilt in his eyes, in the fine lines on his face, tore through me, leaving me short of breath. “Then you know what I’ve done. Even if I could call him, I don’t expect he’d answer. And without a summoning ritual, customized to the specific dimension… There isn’t time. This was faster.”

“How did you even find me?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“The number of humans who have two-way communication with an angel, particularly one as powerful as Michael, is limited. An even smaller subset are enamored with our lives, as depicted on that show.”

“You picked up on my emotions?”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You were practically screaming.” He opened the door and motioned me to enter, following close behind.

I thought I’d be prepared for what I saw. I was, after all, just picturing a scene from the show, with Sam on his bed. But watching a screen and being there in real life were two very different things. Sam Winchester looked a lot like Jared Padalecki, but there were some differences. Sam was a lot more banged up, with both old and more recent scars visible on his face, arms and hands. He lay on his bed fully clothed, including his shoes. I could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, but there was no visible eye movement behind his closed lids.

“He doesn’t respond to anything?” I asked.

Castiel shook his head slightly. “He is physically healthy. I was able to heal his wounds. But…”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t guarantee this will work. But I’ll do my best.”

“I need you to do more than your best.” Castiel looked up and squinted, as if fixated on where the ceiling met the opposite wall. “I need…” He lowered his eyes, unfocused. “I need them back.”

 

* * *

 

Calling Michael has never been particularly easy, and I’ve never really been comfortable with prayer. So I did the only thing that’s ever worked for me. I closed my eyes and brought to mind the last time I’d actually seen him, the way I felt around him, the way his energy felt to me. It was very much a sense of unconditional love, and I always felt like the best part of myself in his presence, while simultaneously being in awe—a little bit frightened of him.

Within a minute, I felt that same skittering along my skin, an openness in the top of my head, and my heart started beating slightly out of rhythm. _Michael?_ I asked silently.

I heard his voice in my head. _Yes_.

Now the hard part. I’d already decided against _A TV character needs your help._  Instead, I asked, _Would you be willing to help two people in another dimension?_

Something akin to amusement trickled through my connection with him. _Why should I?_

 _Because I’m asking_ , I answered silently.

_Why are you asking?_

I rolled my eyes behind my closed eyelids. Castiel must have caught the movement.

“What is he saying?” Castiel asked. “Does he need time to find a vessel?”

Without opening my eyes, I shook my head and held up one finger to shush him, then realized belatedly I’d effectively told an angel to shut up. Mentally shrugging it off, I returned to Michael’s question. Why _was_ I asking? Why had Castiel sought me out? Based on what I’d seen in the show, the answer couldn’t be more obvious.

 _I’m asking on behalf of love_ , I replied through the link in my head. _But I think you need to be here, and I don’t know where ‘here’ is_.

 _It’s of no matter_ , Michael said.

Nearly immediately, my heart started beating wildly and my skin felt like a mild electric shock was passing over every inch of it. I opened my eyes and saw Michael the way I’d seen him before: looking entirely human—tall, with wavy, light brown hair, dressed in jeans and a lightweight silver jacket that nearly matched his deep-set gray eyes. I quickly glanced at Castiel, who was watching me closely.

“He can’t see me,” Michael said.

“Oh. Why not?” Although I answered aloud, Castiel didn’t seem to hear me or even notice I was talking.

“Because I don’t want him to. Not yet.” Michael gave me the same penetrating gaze that Castiel had earlier, and some part of my brain wondered if they teach that look in angel school. “Why are you asking this of me?”

“He loves them,” I answered honestly. “And I…” I searched my motivations. “I feel for him.”

“So you are asking out of love and compassion?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. But I don’t know if it’s appropriate.” I had no idea why I was now suddenly concerned with protocol.

“I ask you again,” Michael said softly, “what is the message I always carry?”

I smiled. “Love.”

“And I ask you again, how is it in any way improper for you to ask for the very thing I offer?”

“Point taken. Will you help?”

Michael gave me a small smile. “I understand your motivations,” he said. He nodded toward Castiel. “Now I want to hear his.” His eyes returned to me, a soft look on his face. “Don’t be afraid of the transformation. It isn’t for your benefit.”

In a sudden burst of blinding white light, I could make out a humanoid form: arms and legs and his head. The light was moving and rippling from him and around him, not unlike the Aurora Borealis or solar flares, and looked for all the world like he was emanating white fire, which, especially as it flowed around him, could also look like large wings.  And carried casually, easily, in his hand, was a brilliant white, glowing sword, with a clear message that it would be no great effort to cut down anyone or anything (person, mountain, planet) that stood in his way.

Castiel’s eyes widened and, with what sounded like a crack of thunder and a sizzle of electricity, two iridescent black wings rose rapidly above him, making him seem far more intimidating. They filled the room quickly, long flight feathers knocking two of Sam’s shirts off the wall-mounted hooks and reflecting Michael’s light in an infinite rainbow of hues.

I could see where his wings were damaged. There were near-bald patches where feathers ought to have been, the skin underneath appearing scarred. In other places, the feathers were broken or the veins had been stripped off, leaving only shafts. It looked like he’d just been through a war, which somehow made the sight of them even more menacing.

Michael seemed unfazed. “Why ask you this of me?” he asked in a voice that boomed and echoed in the small bedroom.

A little anxious, I moved toward the desk and chair against the wall farthest from them and sat down, wondering if I was witnessing an angel pissing contest.

“I don’t ask for myself,” Castiel said, somewhat defiantly. He nodded toward Sam’s unconscious form. “I ask for him, and his brother.”

“Why?” Michael asked again.

“Because they deserve to live,” Castiel answered, his wings lowering to half-open.

“What right do you have to ask on their behalf?” Michael demanded.

Castiel folded his wings tightly behind his back and lowered his head, staring at the floor. “I have no right. I’ve done…horrible things. But these two, everything they’ve done has been to save someone else. Please don’t judge them on my own lack of merit.”

The light faded and Michael was once again in his familiar silver jacket and jeans. The sword was nowhere to be seen. Immediately, Castiel tilted his head and squinted at Michael as if he was trying very, very hard to figure something out.

“You don’t have a vessel,” Castiel said with a note of disbelief.

“I don’t need one,” Michael said, much more softly. He glanced around the room. “You live in a harsh world.” His eyes cut back to Castiel as if realizing a new truth. “ _Hell_ exists here?”

Castiel nodded. “Very much so. Are you saying it doesn’t in your universe?”

Michael smiled, which seemed to freak out Castiel more than the light show Michael had put on. “If there was a war between good and evil, I’m pretty sure I’d know about it.”

“Will you help them?” Castiel gestured toward Sam. “I don’t know how much time they have.”

Michael ignored the question, took a few steps toward Castiel, then slowly circled him, examining him from all sides. “I don’t recognize you.”

“Castiel. I’m a seraph.” With another sizzle of electricity, Castiel’s wings vanished.

“No…” Michael said slowly, coming to a stop directly in front of him. “No, you’re not.”

“I am quite certain of my identity.”

Michael took a step forward, his face only inches away from Castiel’s, gray eyes boring into blue ones. I watched as they did a variety of miniscule head and eye movements, certain they were having an entire conversation I couldn’t understand.

“Well,” Michael said, taking a step back. “Kaftziel. Now I understand. You’ve been…demoted. I’m sorry about that. You’ve made quite the change, from complete non-interference to being actively involved with humanity.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said. “I’ve never been more than a seraph.”

Michael shook his head. “You may not remember. But there are still traces. I’m not sure who in this world demoted you or why, and I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. It does explain the name change. Might have something to do with your…independent streak, shall we say?”

“Traces of what?” Castiel asked slowly.

Michael gave him a sad smile. “An archangel.”

Lowering his gaze to the floor, Castiel began to tremble. “Then I have fallen farther than I thought.”

“Why do you ask for help for this one and his brother?” Michael asked gently.

“They deserve it.”

“That’s not really my question. Whether they deserve it or not is irrelevant. Why have _you_ intervened? Why do _you_ ask?”

Castiel was still trembling and I started to get up out of my chair, to offer it to him, when Michael motioned for me to sit down again.

“I don’t ask for myself,” Castiel repeated, trembling harder.

“I know,” Michael said. “And that doesn’t answer my question. What is it about _you_ , Castiel, that brings you to ask me for help?”

“There isn’t…” Castiel began, shaking now. “I have no right…” And then he collapsed on Sam’s floor.


	5. WHO MADE WHO

When Castiel awoke, he felt disoriented. His vision was blurry and he was laying on something hard and uncomfortable. He struggled to sit up and felt someone helping him, bracing his back. Blinking several times, the room came into focus.

The woman he’d recruited to call Michael from the other world was kneeling next to him, concern on her face. Michael stood a few feet away, at the foot of the bed. Castiel could see the human form Michael was projecting, but that shimmering, undulating light was visible within and all around that projected form. There was no vessel containing him, and he looked nothing like any of the other angels’ true forms he’d seen. He didn’t even have wings. Not with bone and muscle and feathers. He was just…pure energy. Not a single part of that energy felt like anger or disgust or rejection. What it did feel like frightened him.

He pushed himself to his feet and allowed the woman to guide him over to a small table and chairs alongside Sam’s bed. He nodded thanks to her, and rebuked himself for not remembering her name. In fact, he was having a hard time thinking at all.

Turning to Michael, he started to ask, _What did you do to me?_ and heard himself actually say, “Bagilenu elasa gen adagita ol?”

Michael let out a small laugh, traded places with the woman, who went back to sit at the desk, and sat down in the other chair across the small table from him.

 _Enochian, Castiel?_ he heard Michael say in his mind. _The original language wasn’t Enochian, my friend. It was pure thought._

Castiel shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of all this, of the being sitting across from him, of how what he’d thought would be a simple rescue mission turned into something else entirely. He looked over to Sam’s still form. “Will you help them?” he asked, grateful to remember English again.

“You need to answer my questions first,” Michael said. “And they’re safe. We have time.” He cocked his head in manner that Castiel thought was a bit too much like looking in a mirror. “You have limited energy.”

Nodding, Castiel began, “My grace… I was only able to recover a small amount. And I think finding someone to call you,” he glanced at the woman across the room, “and then bringing her here was… It drained me. And I wasn’t expecting your questions.”

“Your grace?” Michael asked.

“Heavenly grace,” Castiel replied. “Without it, I have no power. I’ve…I’ve lost it before. Became human.” A pang of shame shot through him as he admitted that.

“I think I understand now,” Michael said. “Your world is much more…concrete. Heaven and Hell are actual places. You have corporeal wings, even if they’re not visible in the physical plane. Your energy comes from a limited essence. I’m guessing that using your powers requires either touch or a gesture, yes? A concrete action.”

“Isn’t that the only way?” Castiel asked.

 _Pure thought_ , he heard Michael say in his head. _It’s all pure thought._

“May I help you?” Michael asked aloud.

“I’d like you to help Dean and Sam.”

“They’ll be taken care of,” Michael said. “But you’re running on empty and I still need answers to my questions.”

“Why? Why are your questions so important?” Castiel shot back.

“Do you want them healed?” Michael’s tone held no room for argument, and Castiel realized he may well be in the presence of an angel far more powerful than any he knew in this world.

“Yes. Of course.” _Why wouldn’t Michael just_ heal _them already?_

“Then you need to answer my questions. But first…” Michael held out his hand, palm up. “I’ll use a concrete action while I’m here.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. While this Michael seemed nice enough, Castiel still didn’t trust him. He’d been betrayed too many times before. “What do you plan to do?”

A corner of Michael’s mouth tipped up in a half-smile. “Help you. Take my hand.”

Reluctantly, Castiel reached out and grasped Michael’s hand. Despite what he saw—the swirling light and energy—Michael’s hand felt oddly…human. On some instinct, he closed his eyes and felt warmth spread quickly from his hand through his entire self. A gentle hum began to vibrate throughout his being and he was reminded of that feeling of the sun on the backs of his wings when he’d been flying. He felt lighter, more clear-headed, and he quickly checked the state of his grace, shocked to find that it had somehow grown, both in strength and amount.

Opening his eyes, Castiel saw Michael watching him intently and felt a little unnerved. _Is this how Dean feels when I’m watching him?_ He let go of Michael’s hand and repeatedly opened and closed his own, still feeling a lingering trickle of energy in it. “Thank you.”

Again the half-smile. “You’re welcome. Now. What is it about you that brings you to ask me to heal these two?”

“I owe them,” Castiel said quietly. “I owe them everything.”

“So you’re asking only out of obligation?”

“Not only. As I said, they deserve it.”

“You’re not stupid, Castiel,” Michael said. “The Kaftziel I know could determine precisely how a game of chess would end by only knowing both players and the first move. If you are anything at all like him, and I would venture to say you are—far more than you’d be willing to admit to anyone, including yourself—then you are dancing around my questions and I am telling you to _stop it._ ”

“I don’t know how else to prove their worthiness to you,” Castiel said, feeling very uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken.

“I don’t want to know anything about them,” Michael said. “I want to know about you.”

Dread seeped through Castiel’s consciousness and his vessel’s abdomen was feeling extremely unpleasant. “I cannot prove my worth to you,” he said, just above a whisper. “I tried to do penance,” he continued, the words seeming to tumble after one another. “I tried to make things right. And every time, I just made it worse. I couldn’t even protect Dean and Sam when the angels attacked them, which is why I’m begging for your help.” He met Michael’s eyes. “Kill me if you must. I know I’m an abomination. But please. I’m begging you. Save them.”

Michael gave him one curt nod. “Very well.”

“Michael!” The woman at the desk had jumped up, her chair back nearly knocking an old tape dispenser off the desktop. “Please don’t kill him!”

Turning to her, Michael made the slightest eyebrow twitch, the woman’s face registered understanding, and she sat down quietly. “No one’s killing anyone,” he said as he moved to face Castiel again. “I can see I need to come at this another way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What traits do you admire in these two for whom you want help?” Michael asked.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel repeated. “What does that have to do with—”

“ _Everything_ ,” Michael interrupted. “Now answer my question.”

Castiel sighed. “They are loyal. To each other and to their friends and family. Even to me. They’re courageous. They’ve run headlong into death, even when it was ill-advised, to save others. They have, it seems, unlimited compassion. Sam shows it more. Dean seems to think it’s a weakness, even though it’s a great strength, and he feels it deeply. They forgive. Even the worst transgressions. They—”

Conflicting emotions forced Castiel to take a shaky breath. “They forgave me. Over and over. They have so much faith in each other. And despite what I’ve proven to them time and again, they seem to have faith in me. I meant what I said earlier. I owe them everything. They taught me about freedom. Even though it led to disastrous consequences, I will never be able to repay them for that.”

His vision was blurry again and he was concerned maybe whatever Michael had done to him had run its course, leaving him low on power again. He blinked and felt something wet running down his face. Was he bleeding? Raising the heel of his hand to his eyes, he wiped at them, then looked at his hand, puzzled. Clear liquid. Saline. Tears. _How can I be crying?_

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with healing them,” Castiel said, continuing to swipe at his eyes.

“Do you have computers here?” Michael asked. “The internet?”

“Yes. I don’t trust them.”

Michael smiled. “Did you recognize them when you first saw them?”

“No. Sam had to show me. I had a hard time understanding that humans had their own version of angel radio, a method to communicate with others far away without speaking.”

“Angel radio?” Michael asked.

“When I can hear what the other angels are saying. I keep it turned off mostly now.”

“Ah. Telepathy.” _Pure thought_ , Michael added silently in Castiel’s mind.

“I’m quite clear on that now, thank you,” Castiel grumbled.

“My point is that you didn’t recognize computers because you had no experience with them. You can’t recognize something you’ve never known. And you can’t recognize character traits like loyalty and compassion and forgiveness unless you’ve experienced them.”

“Of course I’ve experienced them,” Castiel said. “I just told you they’ve been inadvisably loyal to me. They’ve forgiven me even though I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m not talking about them, Castiel. I’m talking about you.” Michael leaned forward over the table, his steely gaze now something Castiel definitely didn’t find comfortable. “You can’t recognize traits like that in another unless you have them in yourself. It’s impossible. No matter what world you live in.”

“No…” Castiel breathed out the word slowly.

“It’s not an opinion,” Michael said, leaning back again and relaxing his gaze. “It’s a fact. Your own list of their admirable traits tells me that _you_ are loyal, _you_ are courageous, _you_ are compassionate, _you_ have faith, _you_ are an example to others through freedom of choice.”

“My ‘freedom of choice’ is perhaps the worst thing about me,” Castiel whispered. “I allowed Lucifer to possess me.”

“Your freedom of choice has made you who you are now. Without that, in _this_ world?” Michael waved his hand around the room. “You’d be little more than an automaton. Yes?”

Castiel nodded silently.

“And you can’t recognize forgiveness without also having forgiven others. _You_ are forgiving, Castiel. And it’s time for you to forgive yourself.”

“I need to make it right,” Castiel replied, hearing the force behind his words.

“Then make it right. But stop punishing yourself. And accept that you are also all those things you admire in your charges.”

Castiel shook his head and looked away. _If Michael only knew, he wouldn’t say these things._

“What makes you think I _don’t_ know?” Michael asked softly. “You rebelled, and under identical circumstances, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. You kept trying to make things better. To protect humanity. To protect your charges. And cut off from your source energy?” Michael huffed out a short laugh. “Castiel, even I admire that in you.”

Castiel looked sharply at Michael. “You can’t mean that.”

“I don’t lie, my friend. I can’t. I’m always connected to Source energy, and that doesn’t allow for lies or deceit. And it doesn’t need to, because truth is always more powerful than lies.”

“Don’t you have your own orders?” Castiel asked. “A mission?”

Michael tipped his head as if considering his answer. “You could call it a mission, I suppose. What I really have is a message. And I have responsibilities, and,” he glanced briefly at the woman sitting at the desk, “my own charges. But how I carry those out is my choice. My freedom.”

“And this is all okay with God?”

Smiling broadly, Michael said, “More than okay.”

As Castiel continued to stare at Michael, he realized that this vessel-less angel could project _any_ form. He was probably only in his current form for the woman’s sake. He could look like whatever he wanted. No, Castiel corrected himself, Michael would project whatever form individual people needed to see.

 _Correct_ , Michael’s mind-voice resonated in Castiel’s head with a trickle of amusement.

“This directs us back around to my question,” Michael said out loud. “What is it about you that brings you to ask me for help?”

Castiel thought he finally understood. Michael wasn’t asking about his worthiness; he was asking about something more profound. And it meant he was going to need to set aside his guilt and self-recrimination. Whatever Michael was looking for, it was likely not something he’d already brought up in his list.

He thought again about what he admired in the brothers, but his mind was distracted by the embrace he’d given Dean when he’d entered the bunker. _Wasn’t that only a few short hours ago?_ There was a feeling deep beneath that hug, more than relief, stronger than joy. He’d felt that same emotion too, when he watched the brothers embrace each other, or Bobby, though never stronger than the one he’d last shared with Dean.

He tried chasing the feeling, but it was evasive, always maneuvering just out of reach. Giving up that tactic, he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, blocking out the awareness that Michael was watching him and awaiting an answer. He brought the hug to mind again, the hugs the brothers shared, especially when they thought they were saying goodbye for the last time. There was regret and vulnerability, even fear. But there was a bond. An unbreakable bond. There was a sudden sparking throughout his being as he realized he now shared that bond with them.

But it was more than family. He’d seen it with others too: Charlie, Jo, even Benny, though he couldn’t understand _that_. And then he latched on to what must be true: it was, after all, his first and original mission. The one that all of his brothers and sisters seemed to have forgotten. The one that had seemed so cruelly absent until he first saw Dean in Hell, saw the brightness and beauty of Dean’s soul: Love. _I love them._

 _Yes_ , Michael said softy in his mind. _Now say it out loud. Claim it_.

Castiel opened his eyes and met Michael’s eyes, now letting the tears fall unrestricted from his own. “I’m asking you because I love them.”

Michael smiled warmly. “And you cannot recognize something that doesn’t already exist in you. Which also means you are lovable. You _are_ loved.”

Nodding slowly, Castiel swallowed, attempting to dislodge a sudden inflammation in his throat. “You’ll heal them now?”

“No.” Michael shook his head.

“But—”

“Now _you_ will.”

“I’ve already tried,” Castiel argued. “I couldn’t get through. There was nothing there. That’s why I asked for your help.”

“And I’ve given it,” Michael said calmly.

“But—”

“Come on,” Michael said, getting up from the chair and nodding toward Sam. “Take me to his brother.”

Castiel rose, feeling raw and uncertain. He led Michael and the woman to Dean’s room, half-expecting Dean to be regaining consciousness as if Michael had miraculously healed him from Sam’s room. But when he opened the door, Dean was as motionless as Sam. Castiel stifled a sob, unable to figure out why Michael was now refusing to heal them.

“How do you heal others in this world?” Michael asked.

“I can do it by touching the side of their face.”

“Then do so.”

Castiel reached out to Dean, cupping Dean’s cheek in his hand, thumb lightly grazing over Dean’s cheekbone. He reached out with his grace and felt the same emptiness. “There’s nothing there,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Go back to that embrace you were remembering.” Michael instructed.

Nodding, Castiel closed his eyes again, brought back the hug, the elation he felt seeing Dean alive after all, his feelings for the hunter over the years, how that embrace had healed his own jagged, torn heart. He could feel it building, and he added other memories: Dean’s laughter, his compassionate listening when Castiel first admitted to having doubts, his pure joy at a favorite song, his love for his brother. Castiel felt it growing, warming: love and forgiveness and compassion and loyalty all wrapped up together, a powerful force that swirled within him.

It reached a peak where Castiel wasn’t sure he could contain it any longer, and he directed it to Dean through his contact. _I love you_. He could feel a soft, warm glow, knew even with his eyes closed that it was visible. And then he felt it, an invisible, once-impenetrable wall that he hadn’t even been aware of before just melted away and Dean was back.

He opened his eyes and slowly removed his hand. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around the room, startled by obvious strangers in his space. “Cas? What’s—? Who are these people?”

“I’ll explain everything, but first I need to wake Sam up.”

Dean slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, holding his head. “Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna—”

But Castiel didn’t hear him, as he and Michael and the woman were already on their way to Sam’s room. His confidence buoyed by Dean’s recovery, Castiel was able to create the same powerful force, perhaps even a little faster, and the second wall melted and Sam was awake.

“Cas?” Sam said, eyeing the strangers and scrambling backwards, his back pressed up against the headboard. “What happened? I thought…” His eyes suddenly pooled with tears. “I thought I saw Dean. But I must have dreamt it.”

“No, Sam,” Castiel said. “Dean’s very much alive. I just left him in his room.”

“He’s…?” Sam leapt up off the bed, then stopped short, seeing Michael in the doorway and the woman in the hallway. “Who…?”

“I’ll explain everything. Go get your brother and meet us in the library.”


	6. HELLO GOODBYE

I followed silently as Castiel led Michael and me to the library. I was so overcome with what I’d witnessed that I’d forgotten I wasn’t in my own world, where all of this would have been only so much set dressing and script-writing.

 _You gave him an incredible gift,_ I said silently, focusing my thought toward Michael.

 _I only encouraged him to see that he already had what he needed_ , Michael replied in my head.

 _Still…_ _I’m impressed._

Michael turned his head to look at me as we went around a corner, and I felt a stab go through me as his eyes met mine. _You remember what I said about recognizing traits? It’s universal. It doesn’t just apply to him._

I didn’t say anything but I got the message.

Castiel led us to the library, which looked far bigger than it seemed on TV, motioning us to one of the wooden tables. “Please, sit.” He went to a small refrigerator against the wall and removed two bottles of beer, opening both with ease, placing them in front of two chairs nearest the hallway.

I went to the far end of the table, feeling very much like I didn’t belong. All I was needed for was my connection to Michael, and I felt a little in the way. And when Sam and Dean entered only moments later, I felt even more out of place, nearly a foot shorter than even the shortest of the others. I sat down.

“Hey, these for us, Cas?” Dean asked, swiping one of the bottles.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel remained standing, looking uncomfortable.

“Awesome.” Dean sat down and took a long swallow.

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam sat down, picked up his bottle, then set it down again. “So…what happened? The last thing I remembered was Dean coming in and then it’s kind of a blur. And,” he motioned to Michael, who leaned casually against a bookcase near Castiel, and me, “who are they?”

“Akzariel and his followers must have followed you, Dean,” Castiel began, “and attacked us here in the bunker.”

“Right. The front door.” Dean grimaced.

“Wait, what about the warding?” Sam asked.

“Amara burned many of them off,” Castiel said. “We will need to replace them.”

“So if Akzariel attacked us,” Sam said, “why aren’t we, you know, dead?”

“I was able to provide some protection with my wings. It was enough to keep them from killing you, but not enough to prevent other damage. It seemed that he completely wiped your minds.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“When I tried to revive you, there was nothing there. No consciousness, no memories, no personality.”

“You been digging around in my head, Cas?” Dean sounded mildly irritated and yet amused at the same time.

“I had no choice, Dean. And when it was clear I couldn’t bring you back myself, and no angels, demons, or witches could be trusted, I remembered that time Balthazar sent you to another universe where you were TV actors playing yourself and Sam.”

“Yeah, that was a laugh riot, wasn’t it, Sammy?” Dean said sarcastically. “But you did get to bang Ruby that one night, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“Gen,” Sam said absently. “And I did not ‘bang’ her.”

“Yeah, you were loaded too,” Dean continued. “What was your name? Paleski or something. Bunch of freaking weird names there. Who names their kid Jensen? And what was the name of the dude who played Cas? I can’t remember. I keep picturing mashed potatoes.”

“There are five thousand nine hundred and thirteen permutations of my name if it is spelled correctly,” Castiel said suddenly. “However, fewer than two hundred form actual words in English. If my name is being misspelled, that broadens the permutations and combinations significantly.”

I snorted out a laugh and covered my mouth too late. Four pairs of eyes were suddenly on me.

“She’s the one who told me that the actor who plays me in her universe is misspelling my name,” Castiel explained.

“Wait—your…?” Sam raised his eyebrows as he stared at me.

“ _Some_ people say he’s misspelling your name,” I said, irrationally needing to defend myself. “I am completely indifferent. If anything, I think he’s got a right to spell it however he wants. Except,” I suddenly felt like I’d put my foot in my mouth, “maybe you’d disagree.”

“How _exactly_ is he spelling it?” Castiel demanded.

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean said, looking between Castiel and me. “Get off the spelling. She’s from another friggin’ _universe_?”

“Yes, Dean. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I decided to look for a universe where I might be recognized as an angel from that show, a universe that would also have an angel powerful enough to undo the damage Azkariel had done, and a human who could communicate with such an angel to heal you.”

All four pairs of eyes were back on me. I noticed that Michael had been watching this entire conversation with polite detachment. “I’m…uh…I’m the human,” I said, horrified as I watched my hand give them a little wave.

Sam bolted out of his chair, hands up defensively, eyes on Michael.

Dean took another swig of beer, watching Michael carefully over his bottle. “You here to heal or hurt?” he asked.

“No, Dean, he’s safe. One of the ‘good guys,’ as you say.” Castiel seemed to roll his eyes using his entire head. “Sam, you can sit down.”

Slowly, Sam returned to his seat. Still eyeing Michael, he took a long drag on his beer.

Castiel began pacing alongside the table. “I knew that not just any angel would be able to undo the damage Akzariel did. It would have to be an archangel. And a powerful one.”

“Michael,” Sam said softly. “You’re Michael.”

“I am,” Michael said with a small nod.

“But not the douchey version, right?” Dean asked.

Michael quirked one eyebrow up and cocked his head, but said nothing.

Dean looked between Castiel and Michael. “Do angels in _every_ universe have the same annoying habits?” he grumbled, though it sounded more like he was trying to cover up some other reaction.

“Dean…” Castiel began.

“Perhaps it would help if I explain a few things,” Michael said.

“It might,” Castiel said. “I don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Michael commanded, standing up straight and holding Castiel’s eyes with his own.

I watched everyone turn immediately to Michael as the tension in the air increased exponentially.

“Don’t put yourself down, Castiel,” Michael said. He turned to look at Sam and Dean. “What he neglected to mention, and might never tell you, is that he’s the one who healed you both. Not me.”

“No,” Castiel disagreed. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You _think_ so, but that doesn’t make it true.” He looked back at Sam and Dean, his expression softening. “I’m sorry that in your world, everything is so discrete. It feels…fractured to me. In the other dimensions in which I’ve traveled, Source energy connects all things. But here, this disconnect creates challenges for all of you—and especially for you, Castiel—that would not otherwise exist. I wish I could do more.”

“Hey, if you helped Cas undo the whammy that dick angel laid on us, I’d say you’ve done enough,” Dean said. “And thanks. Really.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed out. “Thank you. But…how _did_ you help him?”

Michael shook his head. “That’s Castiel’s story to tell, if he wishes.”

“I would rather not talk about it now,” Castiel said.

“No, that’s fine, Cas,” Sam reassured him.

“Yeah, we’ll drag it out of your feathery ass someday,” Dean added with a smirk.

Castiel tilted his head slightly while narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Should I ever decide to share that story, it will not be coming from my ass.”

Sam snorted and shook his head, while Dean rolled his eyes. Michael, on the other hand, actually broke out into laughter.

“Don’t mind Cas,” Sam said. “He has a habit of taking everything literally. We’re still trying to teach him human idioms.”

 _What’s so funny?_ I directed my thought toward Michael. _I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before._

Michael glanced at me and instead of hearing his voice in my mind, I suddenly heard a hollow echo, not too dissimilar from being on a conference call. Then he looked pointedly at Castiel.

 _You deliberately deceive them into thinking you don’t understand?_ Michael said through the connection in my head.

I almost answered but then realized he was talking to Castiel, and was somehow letting me listen in, so I stayed silent.

 _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ , Castiel replied in a mind-voice far more expressive than any I’d heard him use audibly.

“Cas can always be counted on for comedic relief,” Dean said.

“You know we just pick on you because we love you, right Cas?” Sam’s brow had a hint of worry.

 _I can see your energy, Castiel. And your wings_. Michael sounded highly amused.

“I appreciate that you don’t intend offense.” Castiel was completely serious, his face impassive.

 _It makes them laugh_ , Castiel said through the connection. _Which makes me feel good too. And it allows them to feel like they know something I don’t, which boosts their confidence._

“Maybe we’ll have you spend some time on Urban Dictionary,” Dean said. “Though on second thought, then you might start using slang that I don’t understand.”

“I will never understand why you humans do not simply say what you mean instead of using impossible metaphors and phrases that can only engender misunderstanding.” Castiel’s voice had a distinct tone of frustration.

 _Because we’re human and humans lie_. Castiel seemed to be quoting something.

“Because we’re human, Cas,” Dean explained. “And humans lie and manipulate to get what we want. Just putting the naked truth out there, it scares the crap out of us. As a species, that is.”

 _Sometimes it’s fun to wind them up and let them go_ , Castiel added through the connection, and I could swear I heard him laughing, though his face gave absolutely nothing away.

At that point, I could no longer hide my own laughter, and, not wanting to blow the whistle on Castiel, I settled for burying my face in my hands.

 _Now that, my friend_ , Michael said through our mind link, _is worthy of the Kaftziel I know and love._

 _Truth be told_ , Castiel added, his mind-voice a little less mirthful, _I don’t understand everything. But this allows me to cover my actual confusion and bring a little levity into their lives. They deserve some levity._

 _And you_ —

All of the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I raised my head to see Castiel staring intently at me.

_I trust that you will say nothing of this conversation._

_I didn’t realize—_ I began, remembering to think my words instead of saying them. I could half-hear Sam and Dean talking about how society would collapse if humans spoke as directly as Cas did.

 _—I knew you were listening in?_ Castiel said. _Give me some credit._

_I’m sorry. And I won’t say anything._

_There’s no need to be sorry_ , Castiel assured me. _You should also know you’re not invisible. Not in this conversation and not since I brought you here. I have you to thank as much as anyone._

I felt myself tearing up a little. _You’re welcome._

“I need to go,” Castiel broke into what had escalated into an argument between Sam and Dean.

“What? Cas, why?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded toward me. “I need to return her to her own world. She has children to retrieve from school.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Dean said.

“Hey, we never got to ask you anything.” Sam sounded regretful. “And I have so many questions.”

I caught the tiniest shake of Michael’s head. “It’s probably best you don’t know,” I said, really wishing it weren’t so. “But if you ever need me again,” I glanced at Castiel, “You know where I am.” I stopped talking before I started crying.

Castiel and Michael both came toward my end of the table as I stood up. I raised my hand to Sam and Dean. “I’m really glad you’re both okay.” I glanced at Castiel, gathered my courage, and looked at the brothers again. “And take care of your angel. You guys are luckier than you know.”

“Yeah, he’s one-of-a-kind,” Dean said with a grin. Sam nodded.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Castiel said in a low voice.

 _Always remember_ , Michael said through our mind connection.

Castiel nodded gravely. He looked at Michael and a corner of his mouth curved upward. _I would have liked having you as a brother_.

Then his hand was on my shoulder and I felt dizzy, losing my vision and falling into something sturdy that supported me in a sitting position. I wondered if either Castiel or Michael had caught me and managed to open my eyes, only to discover that the sturdy support was my office chair. I heard an odd noise, like someone shaking open a bed sheet. This time I smiled, thinking of wings. I turned around to say goodbye and found that I was alone.

I swiveled back around to my computer and looked at the clock. I had just under two hours before I needed to pick my kids up from school. As best I could figure, I’d been gone for ten minutes. I let out a deep breath, looked at the short story I’d started writing before, saved it, and closed the document. I opened a new document and pondered the idea growing in my mind for a moment. _If it’s fiction, I’m not giving anything away, right?_

I put my fingers on the keyboard and started to write: _Castiel stood back up, removed his hand from Dean’s head, and sighed heavily._


	7. HEADCANON — NOT A CHAPTER

You may have noticed that I have a few references to Hebrew in this fic. I did that on purpose. While the _Supernatural_ canon is heavily based on Christian theology (which I don’t personally share), some of Christian theology is based heavily on Jewish theology, which has Hebrew as one of its cornerstones. SPN canon has already established that the angels were created before humans, and that they were tasked by God to love humanity. This is pretty close to Jewish theology, and it’s here where Jewish and Christian theology part ways (Lucifer doesn’t exist in Jewish theology).

But given this, the angels would most certainly know Hebrew, and it would make sense that those whose names are in Hebrew would have significant meanings.

It’s my headcanon (and Northern Sparrow’s, I believe) that Castiel was originally Cassiel, one of the original seven archangels. However, even _that_ name isn’t the original, as Cassiel is Latin, not Hebrew. The original Hebrew name is Kaftziel (קפציאל) and is related to the Hebrew verb for "to jump” or "to appear suddenly" (לקפוץ) or moving quickly from one space-time to another.

 

ANGELIC NAMES: While not all angel names end in –iel, many do, and I just wanted to explain why, and its importance. The –iel is a double suffix in Hebrew (“i” is a possessive meaning “my” and El is another name for God), translating to “God is my…” Technically, by shortening an angel’s name to leave off even just the “el,” it also means leaving off the name of God. One could make the argument that Cas is a Castiel without God.

AKZARIEL: In Hebrew, akzari (אכזרי) means cruel or brutal. It fit so well in the angelic name formula that I couldn’t resist using it, creating a not-quite-linguistically-correct “Cruelty of God” name that the director of an angelic “corrections” program would be proud of.

CASSIEL: Latin for Kaftziel.

CASTIEL: (קסטיאל) This name appears to fit the angelic name formula, but it doesn’t actually mean anything in Hebrew. It is, however, the name of a furniture store in Tel Aviv, Israel.

KAFTZIEL: (קפציאל) Literally, “God is my speed.” One of the original seven archangels, Kaftziel was notable for watching humanity from afar, never interfering in human affairs.

I loved the idea that _something_ , perhaps that special something that makes Castiel who he is, is partly responsible for his “demotion” and subsequent name change. And perhaps it’s that same something that causes him to change his mind and go from indifferent observer to actively involved (and rebelling against a Heaven-sans-God).

MICHAEL: (מיכאל) Literally, “who is like God.” Yes, my characterization is based on someone, and no, I can’t go into more detail than that. Sorry to be so vague.

SHOMER: Literally, “guard.” It’s used in many different ways, including being the legal guardian for another.


End file.
